‘Yes. He’s not strong, touch of TB, I think, and some trouble with his ears. His doctor told him to come down here. He’s been very generous and subscribed to the movement himself.’

‘May I give you a word of advice? Have your books audited.’

‘Do you know Bob Legge? You can’t make veiled accusations—’

‘I have made no accusations.’

‘You’ve suggested that—’

‘That you should be business-like,’ said Watchman. ‘That’s all.’

‘Do you know this man? You must tell me.’

There was a very long silence and then Watchman said:

‘I’ve never known anybody of that name.’

‘Then I don’t understand,’ said Decima.

‘Let us say I’ve taken an unreasonable dislike to him.’

‘I’d already come to that conclusion. It was obvious last night.’

‘Well, think it over.’ He looked fixedly at her and then said suddenly:

‘Why won’t you marry Will Pomeroy?’

Decima turned very white and said: ‘That, at least is entirely my own business.’

‘Will you meet me here tonight?’

‘No.’

‘Do I no longer attract you, Decima?’

‘I’m afraid you don’t.’

‘Little liar, aren’t you?’

‘The impertinent lady-killer stuff,’ said Decima, ‘doesn’t wear very well. It has a way of looking merely cheap.’

‘You can’t insult me,’ said Watchman. ‘Tell me this. Am I your only experiment?’

‘I don’t want to start any discussion of this sort. The thing’s at an end. It’s been dead a year.’

‘No. Not on my part. It could be revived; and very pleasantly. Why are you angry? Because I didn’t write?’

‘Good Lord, no!’ ejaculated Decima.

‘Then why—’

He laid his hand over hers. As if unaware of his touch, her fingers plucked at the blades of grass beneath them.

‘Meet me here tonight,’ he repeated.

‘I’m meeting Will tonight at the Feathers.’

‘I’ll take you home.’

Decima turned on him.

‘Look here,’ she said, ‘we’d better get this straightened out. You’re not in the least in love with me, are you?’

‘I adore you.’

‘I dare say, but you don’t love me. Nor do I love you. A year ago I fell for you rather heavily and we know what happened. I can admit now that I was—well, infatuated. I can even admit that what I said just then wasn’t true. For about two months I did mind your not writing. I minded damnably. Then I recovered in one bounce. I don’t want any recrudescence.’

‘How solemn,’ muttered Watchman. ‘How learned, and how young.’

‘It may seem solemn and young to you. Don’t flatter yourself I’m the victim of remorse. I’m not. One has to go through with these things, I’ve decided. But don’t let’s blow on the ashes.’

‘We wouldn’t have to blow very hard.’

‘Perhaps not.’

‘You admit that, do you?’

‘Yes. But I don’t want to do it.’

‘Why? Because of Pomeroy?’

‘Yes.’

‘Are you going to marry him, after all?’

‘I don’t know. He’s ridiculously class-conscious about sex. He’s completely uneducated in some ways, but—I don’t know. If he knew about last year he’d take it very badly, and I can’t marry him without telling him.’